


lascaux

by tawnyPort



Series: HSWC 2013 [8]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cavemen, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Homestuck Shipping World Cup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:06:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawnyPort/pseuds/tawnyPort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are the leader and you protect her from them. If she knows, she never says, but she is fond of you. No one else is allowed to watch her paint. It is sacred to her, just as the hunt is sacred to her. The paintings are her offering. She never gives up meat, never gives up skins. Not to the sky or the land anyway, only gives them the art and the act of the kill. She keeps the clade in furs and food, especially in the cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lascaux

**Author's Note:**

> From [HSWC Bonus Round 3](http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/5337.html?thread=1867737#cmt1867737): Karkat<3Nepeta, 17,300 years ago, Lascaux Cave

Cold.

Coldest part, cold through you, cold in and out and top and bottom. You wrap and wrap and wrap and drape, you cut and tie and it still gets in.

But you walk because you must, because there is smoke and that means there is her and she has food. Some bullshit that she is the best hunter but there you have it. She will not turn you away and you are hungry and cold. It is hard to hunt in the cold. 

So you walk.

You enter the cave. Immediately warmer, warmer, and it smells of blood. You unwrap a little, shuffle in to where she is. Broad horns, broad back, it will feed all of you for days, and she brought it in alone. 

You know the others talk behind their hands about this small woman who dwells here and makes images on the walls but she feeds you all. They take without asking, without appreciation, and she lets them.

You are the leader and you protect her from them. If she knows, she never says, but she is fond of you. No one else is allowed to watch her paint. It is sacred to her, just as the hunt is sacred to her. The paintings are her offering. She never gives up meat, never gives up skins. Not to the sky or the land anyway, only gives them the art and the act of the kill. She keeps the clade in furs and food, especially in the cold.

You sit near her fire. She is painting the hunt today. The cave is covered in her hunts and her days. She is too bold in her pursuit, she goes for ones that are too big, but always she brings them down. 

"Karkat." She turns from her painting, furs matted with drying blood and waste, hands dark with the rocks and ash of her paints, and comes to join you. She smells of sweat and the cold and always of blood.

"Nepeta. You good?" You can't always tell if the blood is hers or not. She doesn't always tell you.

"Fine. Proud!" She gestures to the animal cooling by the entrance to the cave. You will have to help her drag it in because you are not the only ones who find it hard to hunt in the cold. 

"Should not be. Madness. Eat the stores." You can keep enough to get you through the cold. It's lean times but she won't get killed. You have this conversation at least twice a moon. She does not care, does not change.

"Fresh, Karkat. Stores last longer. Duh." She rolls her big dark eyes. "Welcome."

You're sorry. You don't say but you sink into your wrap and frown. She knows, smiling and going back to her wall. 

"Have to finish. Tonight is the most important." She keeps the best track of time out of all of you. The sun comes into her cave in particular ways and she always knows. "Hunt for the sky. Bring an end to the cold."

You don't know what you'd do if the cold didn't end so you don't question her. You sit in quiet, watching your breath, listening to the fire and the wet sound of her finger on the wall as the sun goes down, the amber light filling the cave. Makes you feel warmer.

Finally, she's done. She turns back to you, trotting over and sitting very close to you to admire her work. "Good?" For the first time you see her confidence falter. She cares if you care. And you care but you can't put word to it. 

"Very good. Best warrior. Best painter." You loop an arm awkwardly around her shoulder and she leans against you, grumbling fondly, deep in her throat.

"Karkat." She cuddles in closer to you, drawing her knees up and closing her eyes. Sun goes down, too dangerous to walk home. You will pass the night here. This is not the most fortuitous time for mating. The child will come at the ripening if there is to be a child and then have to survive the cold. She will not be able to hunt when she is with child but that will be the green season when food is easy and she is strong. Her get will be strong. Timing could be worse.

If not, at least neither of you will be so cold.


End file.
